


Envoi: Leering, Literature And Life-Bans (1936)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [308]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Cars, Destiel - Freeform, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, Lust, M/M, Retirement, Writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-28 12:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ As Germany throws its weight about in the Rhineland, John's great-nephew Dane throws his hands up in despair at his disreputable relatives. Someone delivers rather more than a new car and John cannot believe his bad luck. Seriously, another one?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vignahara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vignahara/gifts).



**1936**

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

It had been a worrying year thus far. The increasingly belligerent (if not downright insane) Herr Hitler had marched German troops into the Rhineland, the demilitarized zone along the French-German border and neither Paris nor London had done anything to stop him. More and more it looked as if his ambitions to 'gather all Germans unto the Fatherland' would lead to another war sooner or later.

At least it had been a good start to the day as we had been blessed with some good news. Ben's son Ben Junior who last year had married a most attractive brunette called Miss Gwendolyn Hammond, was now the proud father of a baby boy – my first great-grandson. And they were calling him Sherlock, after a certain blue-eyed genius who had cried when I had told him the news.

Unfortunately our celebrations had consequences.....

֍

One extremely annoyed great-nephew stormed into the cottage in what was clearly not a happy mood. Although to be fair he may have had some cause.

“I cannot believe it!” Dane yelled at us. “At my own damn school? Have you any idea what I will have to face next term after this? I will be the only pupil whose relatives have been barred from De Montfort's for life!”

James bent a little further over his cleaning at the table, very clearly trying to hide a laugh. And very clearly failing.

“That is not true”, Sherlock pointed out reasonably. “My illustrious great-grandson achieved that status last year.”

My great-nephew threw a furious hazel-eyed glare at him. 

“That was when Mr. Briggs smiled at Trey 'the wrong way'”, he snapped. “Not the same at all; Tan only got banned because he went and knocked the fool fellow clean out. Not because Toby has relatives who were caught going at it _right there in the headmaster’s blooming study!”_

Sherlock sniggered and I tried to control a smirk of my own; we both heard James' chortle as he made his escape. Our great-nephew had a point I supposed, but when Sherlock had come out of the changing-rooms wearing that damn waistcoat – well what with the happy news from that morning and him looking like sex personified, what else was a fellow to do? And the headmaster had been laughing as he had banned us although his secretary had looked scandalized (though not enough to prevent her simpering at someone old enough to be her grandfather and who was not me, I had noted sourly). 

“Your father thought that it was funny”, I muttered. Dane rounded on me.

“His sense of humour has got even worse ever since he and Mother kept on emulating you”, he groused. “Five brothers and three sisters is more than enough proof of that!”

“Mind the tree”, Sherlock said reprovingly as our great-nephew turned sharply near the 'over-decorated over-burdened probably-spider-infested fire-hazard' (his words) in the corner of the room. Dane glared at us both then stormed upstairs, huffing as he went. 

Sherlock pulled out a notebook and added the school to the impressively long list of places that we had been banned from. We were so bad!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

I was feeling doubly happy that day because I had finally completed my final revisions to the now extensive Sherlock canon and tomorrow James would carry them to the publishers for a final check. It had been hard work choosing the cases to be included and in the end he had put aside notes from some sixty or so extra cases that he deemed not yet suitable for publication but might be some years in the future. And the news from London had also been good; the awful King Edward the Eighth who had only become King-Emperor on his father's death in January had abdicated because (he had claimed) 'I cannot do my job without the woman that I love by my side'. Hah! I had been proven right about his shallow character, but the good thing was that his much more suitable brother Albert would replace him and would reign as King George the Sixth. And with his only having had two daughters so far that made a new Elizabethan Age likely in the future too.

֍

It was also fortunate as things turned out that my nephew had stopped sulking and had come down when he did because Sherlock was having my birthday present delivered, a Chevrolet Master (I know eleven months late, but the ship bringing the first one over had sunk and then the idiots unloading the second one at Southampton Docks had managed to drop it from their cranes!). Hearing that throaty roar as it came along the rutted driveway was one of the best sounds of my life – excluding the ones I could still pull out of the blue-eyed genius of course. The car was black and chrome, and had of course the essential silver impala on the side and..... oh God no no no no _no!_

The young fellow who got out of the driver's side was horribly familiar, even though I knew that we had never met. Nearly sixty years since that ghastly Cornish fisherman had leered at Sherlock's backside, over thirty since the teasing bastard's nephew had done the same, over twenty since the bastard's younger brother had joined in, and now this? My luck could not be _this_ bad!

“Mr. Constantine Irons?” Sherlock asked. The young man smiled.

“It's Costentyn, sir”, he corrected. “The Cornish equivalent. Day is my half-brother; our mother Mona remarried my father who owns the dealership and went to live with him in North Carolina, but I decided to take this chance to see the Old Country.”

I stared incredulously at the young fellow. A fourth one? What else could go wrong?”

“And I saw my great-uncle Lowen before coming down”, Mr. Irons said. “He and Philip send their regards.... to you both.”

I had to have asked! I was seriously in danger of saying something that I would not have regretted in the slightest when I realized that he was staring past us. Following his gaze I turned and saw that Dane had emerged from the cottage, blinking sleepily and looking as ruffled as a certain blue-eyed someone did of a morning. 

My great-nephew stared back at the visitor and his eyes widened perceptibly. Mr. Irons actually growled and Sherlock interposed himself swiftly between the young men, placing a warning hand on the visitor's shoulder. 

“Down, boy!” he commanded.

I was grateful that Sherlock still had The Voice™ even if nowadays he usually only ever used it on me. Mr. Irons shook himself, gave one lustful look at my great-nephew and nodded.

“Sorry, sirs”, he said. “I don’t.... I don't know what came over me.”

“Whatever it was, it seems to have come over our great-nephew as well”, I teased prodding Dane out of his trance and earning myself a sharp glare and a teenage huff that could have moved mountains. “Since you have come all this way I am sure you that you can find time to stop for some refreshments, and then maybe 'someone' can show you around.”

Both young men's eyes lit up at that prospect. Sherlock coughed pointedly.

“Everywhere but the spare bedroom!”

My great-nephew whined in protest and Sherlock made sure to keep the two apart as we all went inside. Ah, to be young and in love, happy and....

“Now that he's here”, Sherlock smiled, “we _could_ ask him to invite Lowen over.”

Just how did one go about getting a divorce?

֍


End file.
